


ATAVEN HALEN

by softheartelectricsoul



Series: Believers Never Die [5]
Category: Halsey (Musician), Panic! at the Disco, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder, Not Happy, Read OC Chronicles first to learn about my OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softheartelectricsoul/pseuds/softheartelectricsoul
Summary: And you can cry all you want to, I don't care how much---Hell is not a pretty place.But they are there, and they're not getting out anytime soon.





	ATAVEN HALEN

 

 

> Imagine.

Three adults, sitting in Hell.

One, a young man with coffee eyes.

Next, a blue-haired woman with stars in her eyes.

Finally, a fresh-faced teen with deep-sea eyes.

There are many similarities between these souls.

First, they are young.

Second, they are musicians.

Third, they are murderers.

* * *

 

Hell is not a music video.

It is loud, uncomfortably hot and tinted a curious shade of red.

It would be the man's element back in the living world,

but Hell is not something to be comfortable with.

He finds himself covering his ears sometimes, to block out the constant barrage of disconcerting, painful noise.

But then there is silence, and it is worse than the noise.

It reminds him of how his friend's eyes blurred and emptied by his hand and his will.

* * *

 

‘Is it really you?’ the woman gasps. ‘God, I didn't know... Why are you here?’

The man laughs, a rasping sound sharpened by pain.

‘Same as anyone. Murder. Manslaughter. Cult brainwashing victim. Whatever. ’

The woman looks down.

‘Same as you.’ she admits.

‘Out of interest, who was it? ’

‘Mel. ’

The man understands.

* * *

 

The girl stumbles in a few years later, quiet and utterly bewildered.

It takes all her will for her not to fall at the feet of the other musicians and beg for autographs.

‘Who are you? ’ the woman asks, not unkindly.

‘Sarah. Sarah Jackson of Save Rock and Roll.’

The man flinches.

She surveys the utter chaos around her, taking it all in.

‘Far too young.’ the male says.

‘I know. But what can you do sometimes? ’

* * *

 

They manage to scrounge up something resembling a friendship in this utter isolation.

The woman sighs, once, as they hide in a corner from the constant barrage of noise.

‘Why? ’ she asks, her blue hair a halo around her head.

‘We're all too small to talk to God.’ the girl replies.

The man nods.

They sit in silence.


End file.
